


Easily

by Batedbreath



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Making Out, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Summer Love, World War II, and other stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15444414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batedbreath/pseuds/Batedbreath
Summary: The first time they kissed they were 14.





	Easily

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies in advance for typos. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

1931

The first time they kissed they were 14.

“We could practice.”

“Like… on each other?”

Steve looked down at Bucky who was leaning back against the foot of his bed, idly flipping through one of the books scattered on Steve’s bedroom floor. His face was relaxed and his legs were spread out all akimbo, attention on the book in his hands. Still, there was something in the set of his shoulders, the faint pink across his nose and ears.

“Sure. I mean, dame’s mouth feels no different, right?”

Steve thought about it for all of a moment and supposed that no, there really wasn’t any difference.

It all started because they went to grab some milkshakes from Shake Shop down the road and saw Bobby Novak and Charlene Sanders from the year above them making out behind the parking lot.

At first Bucky seemed to think it was funny. By the time they’d returned to Steve’s house he’d gone quiet. Steve knew by now to let him be; He’d say whatever it was when he was ready.

And apparently this was it.

Steve rolled over on his bed to look Bucky full in the face. Bucky glanced up at him and then put his elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm. It was such a Bucky gesture but somehow – different. Like he was trying to hide his face.

“S’pose not, no.” 

That made Bucky look back at him, dark eyebrows lost under the shaggy brown hair falling over his forehead.  “No?”

Steve shrugged but he wasn’t sure. Were girl’s mouths different? He’d honestly never thought about it.

 “So you wanna try?”

Steve’s hands went a little clammy. It was almost like he suddenly had a fever. He nodded and wiped his palms on his pants.

Before Steve was even done nodding Bucky tossed aside his book and hopped up on Steve’s bed, sitting criss cross in front of him.

Steve mirrored him, unsure of what else to do and that made him glad this was happening with Bucky and not with anyone else. Because suddenly he had a million questions. Where do you put your hands? Do you move your head to the right or the left? You close your eyes, right? That’s what they did in the pictures anyway.

“Ready?” Bucky asked, suddenly very close. His eyes were even bigger and bluer from this distance.

Steve steals himself and nods. Bucky closes the distance.

It’s barely a kiss, mostly just their mouths pressing together lightly for a few moments. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut of their own accord but he keeps his hands balled at his sides. They pull back at the same time just far enough for Steve to see the pink across Bucky’s nose and cheeks go darker.

Bucky licks his lips. “Again?” he whispers.

Steve nods and they both lean back in. This time Steve’s bottom lip lands between Bucky’s top and bottom and it’s firmer. Bucky moves his head to the right a little more and their lips slide together slightly, moving clumsily. When Bucky opens his mouth a little Steve gasps and they break apart.

Bucky watches him nervously, his smile a little tremulous. “There. Now we know. For when we kiss a dame.”

Steve nods, drawing his legs to his chest. He can feel the heat pouring off his face. His heart is pounding so hard he wonders if Bucky can’t hear it.

“Are you okay?”

He’s not sure. He kind of wants to grab one of his pillows and put it over his lap but that’s probably too obvious.

“Hm? Oh, I’m fine.”

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Steve.”

Steve looks up at Bucky’s big, earnest blue eyes, made to look even bluer by the darkness of his lashes. He smiles.

“I know.”

 

1934

It takes three years for it to happen again.

Those three years were kind to Bucky. At fifteen, he shot up four inches in a single summer. By his seventeenth birthday, Bucky was easily six feet tall, his shoulders and chest broad, face handsome. He’d kissed tons of girls by now. He had _a lot_ to compare that first kiss to. And he told Steve as much.

“I thought you liked Jane?”

“I did,” Bucky said before eyeing Steve sideways and trying not to smile. He lowered his voice, mindful they’re in public. “She ain’t got as sweet a mouth as you though.”

Steve immediately groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. He slapped Bucky in the chest with surprising strength with the other. “Would you stop that?” But he was laughing.

“Won’ happen again,” he grinned. There was no way in all of hell he would stop that. It was his seventeenth birthday and all he wanted from it was a flask, Steve, and a whole night alone. A night that he could spend talking to Steve like this, looking at him like this, without anyone else watching.

Bucky looked around but there was no one about on the street. He took a hearty swig from the flask. Liquor tasted awful but it felt kind of good once it settled in his stomach. He felt warm, loose. Maybe a little braver than usual.

“’Course, if you want it to happen again…”

“Buck,” Steve groaned. Bucky watched the pink on his cheeks and neck spread. He wondered how far down his chest it went. “How can you gripe me ‘bout that? Weren’t you the one who suggested it in the first place?”

Bucky is absolutely sure he’s the one who originally suggested it and they both know it. “Not how I remember it.”

Bucky hands over the flask and watches Steve’s nose scrunch up in distaste when he takes a drink.

They’re quiet for a moment. Bucky looks around once more but they’re basically hidden. They chose the little steps in the back of the drive-in for its privacy, in case anyone happened upon them with the flask, but there was no need to worry. Brooklyn is hot as hell itself in August and everyone seems to have taken indoors to get away from the inescapable, suffocating heat that slips through every nook and cranny. There’s no one around at 1:43 in the morning. Bucky hesitates only a moment before putting his arm around Steve, faux-casual.

Steve doesn’t say anything about it. Bucky’s done it hundreds of times, maybe thousands. It’s companionable, friendly. At least that’s how he hopes it comes off.

Bucky’s never had any indication at all that Steve wants anything more from him than his deepest friendship and frankly, that’s a hell of a lot more than any one guy can hope to deserve. Steve Roger’s friendship would be enough for a lifetime. It’s just hard, is all. Difficult to be around him without staring or worse, reaching out to touch. Bucky sometimes feels like he’s a string twisted and twisted and pulled tight enough to snap. Whatever this is has been ebbing and flowing and getting worse since that time in Steve’s bedroom three years ago and now he’s balancing on the edge of a cliff, not sure whether to hope he doesn’t do anything stupid or hope he does.

Bucky doesn’t really think Steve would hate him or somethin’ if he found out about it all. It’s just that the illusion would be destroyed. The false hope he lets linger whenever Steve watches him take off his shirt while changing or blushes at his comments would be proven to be just that - false hope. Sometimes he leans in to the arm Bucky puts around him. Once he even rested his head on Bucky’s chest for all of a minute or so but it’s all for nothing in the end ‘cause Steve was goin’ around with little Mary Donahue last month and Bucky saw her at Pete’s Deli in her skirt with a bruise behind her ear, barely visible but there. A bruise Steve put there.

So Bucky just doesn’t want to ruin it for himself is all. He knows the answer he’d get if he ever told him. He just wants to hold on to the idea.

“You kiss Mary like that?”

Steve rolls his eyes but he looks happy and relaxed. He leans back against the wall behind them tucked under Bucky’s arm. “I ain’t tellin’ you that.”

Bucky snags the flask back, feeling a moment of irrational irritation. “Well why the hell not?”

“Because – ‘cause it’s private.”

Bucky is absolutely sure it has more to do with Steve’s inability to get through a description of something like that without turning bright red but he’ll let him have it. Tonight is a good night.

“You could just show me, ya know. Give me a play by play.”

Steve barks a laugh. “Who are you putin’ on a show for with that talk, Barnes? Only people here are you and me.”

“Not a show,” Bucky murmurs and takes another sip from the flask. It burns going down his throat when he swallows too much. He wonders if he’s finally pushed the envelope too far.

Steve turns so he’s looking up at Bucky semi-tucked against his side. He’s smiling and his teeth and eyes look bright in the dimly lit street. “Then what’re you teasin’ me about this for?”

“I just – like gettin’ you all riled up,” Bucky says which feels both true and somehow telling.

Steve just laughs and tucks his ankle around Bucky’s, shifting them closer. Bucky’s heart starts to pound at the proximity. His brain automatically catalogues every place they’re touching – shoulders, hips, thighs, ankles.

“You just like gettin’ me all riled me up,” Steve repeats. He laughs again and leans his head against Bucky’s broad shoulder. It’s the most they’ve touched for any extended amount of time maybe since they were kids. While Steve looks out across the drive-in and the streets surrounding, Bucky takes a moment to ingrain this in his memory for when he’s not in this exact moment anymore. He glances down to the top of Steve’s shaggy blonde head.

“Always have.” He smiles. It’s a beautiful night, despite the sticky heat.

“Did you kiss all those dames the way you kissed me?”

Bucky’s heart goes into triple time and he wills it to slow. Steve could probably hear it with his head so near.

“I – what?”

“Linda, Marla, Francine…” Steve lists off. “How did you kiss them?”

“Well, I – uhm.”

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s thigh and his brain shorts out. “The same way you kissed me?”

Steve is grinning playfully, just taking Bucky’s stupid jokes and turning them around and Bucky should respond, say something, anything. He will just as soon as he regains his handle on the English language.

“I… it wasn’t the same.”

“How did it go? Why don’t you show me?” Steve repeats his words from earlier. He pitches his voice lower trying to match Bucky’s teasing candor.

Bucky nods, a little dazed, weather by the alcohol or these words coming from Steve’s pink mouth, even in jest, he’s not sure. He leans in and kisses Steve’s smile.

The fingers on his thigh go tight but the rest of Steve seems to freeze. He kisses him softly just once before pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says immediately. Steve’s eyes flit back and forth between Bucky’s eyes and his mouth, pure shock on his face. Then he wraps the hand not on Bucky’s thigh around his neck and pulls him in.

His mouth is warm and eager and Bucky wastes no time on questions. He gets a hand on the side of Steve’s face and kisses him back.

Bucky’s pictured this thousands of times, in a thousand ways, and in a thousand places. He’s pictured it happening slow and secretive at the drive-in, cars all around them. Or maybe it would happen behind the school, rough and fast and sudden. Or, since Bucky wasn’t too hot on getting caught for something like that, it would happen in Steve’s room, away from the world’s condemnatory gaze. Where they’ve spent days together, just the two of them. Where Bucky first realized what he wanted and where it happened once before. The one thing he could never get right no matter how hard he tried to picture it was how Steve would kiss him but if he had any sense at all he would’ve known it would be just like this.

His lips are soft and pliant but they somehow still lead Bucky, just like in every other corner of their life. It’s immediately and ferociously addicting. His mind goes warm and hazy and he forgets about the heat that’s making his back stick uncomfortably to his shirt, or the fact it’s the middle of the night and anyone could come around a corner and see. Nothing matters but this, the lush heat of Steve’s mouth on his own, Steve’s fingers on the back of his sweat-sticky neck, inching into the hair at his nape, making a shiver run down his spine.

A tiny corner of his mind itches to reach down and adjust his hard-on in his pants, at least push the heal of his palm against it for some release, but the worry gets washed away when Steve’s silky tongue inches into his mouth.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there kissing. An hour? Two? It’s a dumb as all hell thing to do right there in the semi-open but Bucky can’t remember why. His balls feel heavy and his cock is pushing up against the zipper of his slacks but he’s worried acknowledging it in any way or saying anything at all will break the spell. He keeps his hands above the waist, following Steve. Which is more than enough.

He runs his palms over Steve’s thin shoulders, down his arms, over his chest and stomach, the gorgeous planes of his face. Bucky’s going to be sore tomorrow from trying to keep his lower half still while leaning over sideways to kiss Steve and touching as much as he is possibly allowed.

Steve’s the brave one, as usual. He moves his mouth down to Bucky’s neck and when he can’t quite get where he wants he leans up and straddles Bucky’s right leg, a knee on either side. Steve sucks at his neck below Bucky’s ear and he lets out a quiet groan that’s been clawing at his throat for the better part of an hour. His hands clutch on to Steve’s small waist and he’s panting, tilting his head to give Steve better access. He closes his eyes and wonders how embarrassing it would be to come just from this. He bites down on his bottom lip hard to cut off the harsh breaths.

When Steve’s mouth travels back up past Bucky’s jaw to his mouth, Bucky pulls Steve’s leg so they he’s fully straddling Bucky’s lap. What little pomade was holding Steve’s hair together has come undone from the humid August air and it falls in front of his eyes. His mouth is red and kiss-stung and _Bucky_ did that. He looks up at Steve hazy-eyed, his jaw unhinged, hard enough for it to be edging on real pain. He can feel the hard line of Steve’s cock against his lower stomach and he decides to go for it. The hands he’d been diligently keeping on Steve’s waist travels up and down his back, holding onto his shoulders and pulling him in to catch Steve’s warm mouth. He rubs up and down his back before stealing himself and letting his right hand pass the waistband of his pants and land on Steve’s ass, just resting there. Steve’s hips squirm a little at that, like he doesn’t know whether to push back against Bucky’s hand or in against his abdomen. 

“Buck – Bucky –”

Bucky wasn’t all that interested in unlatching his mouth from Steve’s mouth or his hand from Steve’s ass and he was pretty sure that was what Steve was about to suggest.

“Little more,” he murmured against Steve’s mouth, gently pulling at Steve’s full bottom lip with his teeth.

Steve grunted and went back to groping at Bucky’s shoulders and chest.

Ten minutes later Bucky got his other hand on Steve’s ass, thinking about what kind of noises Steve would make if he started kneading at him, pushing his cheeks together and then pulling them apart again.

“Bucky,” Steve panted into his neck. “We can – let’s do this at home.”

Bucky pulled his mouth away from the slow-forming bruise carefully placed under Steve’s collarbone where it would be hidden by his shirt.

“Really?”

It was more – much more – than Bucky could have hoped for.

Steve nodded, smiling almost shyly. It was a good look on him. He could move mountains and armies with that look and Bucky was only one man.

“You want that?”

Steve looked at him strangely. “Well, yeah.”  He paused. “I thought you knew.”

“I…” Bucky searched for the right words. “No, no I didn’t know.”

“Do you… is that okay?”

It was one thing to go to sleep guiltily fantasizing about a night like this and quite another to have it actually happening. If he was really honest with himself he thought he might someday tell Steve just to get it out but even in his deepest, most safely kept dreams he never imagined it to be Steve making any sort of declarations. It seemed preposterous even to his own mind.

Bucky laughed ‘cause there was nothin’ else left to do.

“Yeah, that’s okay.”

Steve half-scrambled off of Bucky’s lap and Bucky followed him, righting his clothes and hair.

They walked all the way back to Steve’s with arms and knuckles brushing.

 

1935

1935 made Brooklyn look like an awful different place than it did even a year before. Bridges, trollies, subway lines all extended further and further into the heart of the borough. Pretty soon there would even be a subway line connecting Harlem and Brooklyn if you believed the posters. Of course, what with The Depression some soldiers would come back and not recognize their own streets.

It made it hard to find a damn job, that was for sure. Steve was gettin’ awful good at drawing scantily clad women for the Vaudville shows because they paid a nickel a portrait but what with the Sherbert brothers going bankrupt there wasn’t a lot of new shows coming out. When you can’t afford milk, show tickets tend to go by the wayside.

Still, he made enough to get by with his drawings, even if he couldn’t show them to his mom. It meant that he could work when he liked and be by her bedside when he wasn’t.

Bucky had a job lugging crates down by the docks for thirty cents an hour which was damn good money. When he wasn’t working, he was training.

Watching Bucky fight was somethin’ else. Steve was always a little mesmerized whenever he stayed at Gold’s and watched Bucky practice. He was so damn quick; His lithe muscle under tanned skin moved flawless and agile.

Bucky dodged a fist wrapped in white tape and knocked the other guy clean in the side. He was a hell of a fighter.

The guy fell down clutching his side and Bucky glanced over at Steve to see if he was watching just like he did every time he won while Steve was around.

Steve gave him a small secretive grin.

Once they got back to the small rooms they shared, Bucky stripped his shorts and shirt and filled up the bathtub. Their heating wasn’t great so the water was lukewarm at best but it probably felt alright what with the unseasonably warm weather. Steve dragged the wooden stool into their bathroom and perched himself on it, leaning back against the wall and watching Bucky’s naked form settle in the metal tub.

Bucky sighed and stretched his sore muscles. His sweaty hair fell over his forehead and he settled his hands across the taut muscles of his abdomen. He closed his eyes.

Steve took his time admiring the view before he picked up his sketchpad and pencil and started tracing out the lines of Bucky. He propped the radio up on top of the radiator and Fred Astaire played quietly in the background.

_With each word your tenderness grows,_

_Tearing my fear apart_

_And that laugh that wrinkles your nose,_

_It touches my foolish heart_

1936

“Jesus – Jesus Christ.”

Bucky’s hand flew to Steve’s hair but he didn’t tug or direct his head. He just let it rest there. Bucky leaned back against the little stove that acted as their kitchen.

No dame Bucky ever met did this like Steve did. Bucky watched Steve’s mouth stretch around his cock and nearly take the whole thing. His cheeks were flushed red and his eyelashes matted with tears. Bucky’s hand moved to cup Steve’s chin and jaw so he could feel Steve swallowing around him. When a little pre-come or spit escaped his mouth Bucky pushed it back in with his thumb.

“Goddamn Steve.”

Steve smirked a little and licked him from root to tip. There was something about that little smile that made Bucky crazy. He felt out of his mind each and every time this happened. Like he could fall to his knees or cry or both.

They were both still completely clothed besides Bucky whose pants and underwear were pulled down to his knees.

Steve tugged on his shirt. “Off,” he murmured, taking Bucky back in his mouth.

Bucky immediately grabbed a handful of his shirt between his shoulder blades and tugged it off in a second flat.

Steve’s eyes devoured his chest and the cut of his hips; This was pretty much the only positive of hauling crates at the docks all day. Steve seemed to like what it did to his stomach and arms. He tried to flex his abdomen but it was a little hard to concentrate on even that.

Steve’s hands tightened on his hips. His mouth was relentless. Bucky’s cock was coated in spit and dripping every time he pulled off all the way. He licked at the head slowly, just tiny kitten licks meant to torture Bucky into insanity.

“Baby,” Bucky whined.

Steve took the wide head into his mouth and sucked, his blue eyes looking up into Bucky’s. Bucky’s cock jerked at the eye contact.

“Baby, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like that.”

Steve’s mouth was all hot, tight, wet pressure, so good, almost too good. His lips slid up and down Bucky’s length like he was in no hurry at all. Like he wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else. Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head when he felt the velvet of Steve’s throat against the head of his cock.

Steve didn’t break his speed even for a moment as he deftly unbuttoned his own pants, pulled down the zipper, and shoved his underwear down to get his hand on his own cock, his strokes timed with his mouth on Bucky.

Bucky’s hand spasmed when Steve hummed a deep moan in the back of his throat, swallowing around him. His fingers tightened into fists in Steve’s soft hair. He pulled so Steve’s neck was a long pale line, his open mouth spit-slick and dark pink. Bucky’s cock slipped out of his mouth.

Bucky put the palm of the hand not holding Steve’s hair in front of Steve’s mouth.

“Lick it,” he murmured.

Steve licked a long line from the tip of his middle finger to his wrist. Bucky jerked himself hard and fast and watched Steve’s bright, gorgeous eyes, his open mouth, his thin shoulders and pink nipples and his hand on his dick. He pulled just a little harder on his hair.

The heat in his spine and belly coiled and his balls drew up. He groaned out Steve’s name and forced his eyes open; He didn’t wanna miss a moment of this.

His come landed thickly on Steve’s mouth and tongue, dripping on his chin. Bucky stared down in awe as he edged it back in Steve’s mouth with his middle and pointer fingers and Steve sucked around them as his own orgasm hit. His eyes closed and his eyebrows scrunched together and he moaned around Bucky’s fingers in his mouth. It was the hottest damn thing Bucky’d ever seen with his own eyes. He wished there was some way to play it back over again.

Bucky’s fingers slid out of Steve’s mouth as he leaned back on his haunches, panting but grinning his Cheshire cat smile he sometimes got when he knew he’d ruined Bucky good and proper. 

“Happy nineteenth, Buck.”

 

1939

Bucky loved to dance and he loved to drink. Steve wasn’t all that hot on either one of those things. Unless, of course, Bucky was the one who he was drinking and dancing with.

The Noble Experiment that was Prohibition was good and done and speakeasies were easy to find these days. If there was a piano, a cocktail, and women all in one place, Bucky probably knew about it. Women loved Bucky and Bucky loved women.

Steve couldn’t dance to save his life and he’d never loved any woman but his mama but he’d made good friends with the waitresses and they taught him tunes on the piano.

Steve was tapping away at the keys when Leanne DeMarco sat down primly next to him.

“Stevie,” she drawled.

Steve smiled. “Leanne.”

“That boy James of yours. He got a wife at home?”

Steve looked up to follow her gaze over to Bucky. He was spinning a pretty blonde around, a wide grin to on his face. He winked at them when he saw them watching.

“Not at all,” Steve said casually. “Couldn’t imagine him ever settlin’ down.”

Leanne pursed her lips and nodded. “He’s awful cute.”

Steve decided it was best to keep his opinion on the subject to himself. He tilted his head as if in reluctant acknowledgment.

They watched Bucky dance with the blonde girl for a few moments in companionable silence.

“You sure he’s single? He looks awful happy over there.”

Steve grinned down at the keys of the piano he tapped away at. “He just likes to dance.” But he liked Leanne quite a bit and could never blame anyone for being a little enamored with Bucky, so he said, “Don’t waste your time on that one.”

Leanne looked over at him. “He just likes to dance,” Steve told her meaningfully. She squeezed his shoulder and went to pick up a few beers for the table of men smoking in the back.

Bucky was always handsy and tipsy by the time they got back to their rooms.

“You looked so handsome playin’ your songs over there,” Bucky breathed into his neck. His hands snaked around Steve’s waist from behind.

Steve laughed and slapped at his shoulder. “Let me get my boots off first, Buck.”

Bucky kept kissing at his neck while Steve untied his laces. “What were you talkin’ to Leanne about over there?” he mumbled.

“You, actually.”

Steve didn’t have to turn around to know Bucky’s eyebrows were raised.

“I was just tellin’ her how you need a good woman. She’d make a gentleman out of you yet.”

Bucky hummed and went back to attacking Steve’s neck. Steve gave up on his laces and kicked his boots off without untying them. He turned around in Bucky’s arms and fisted his hands in the front of his shirt to haul him in closer.

Five minutes later and Bucky was starting to pant into his mouth, his fingers inching down to Steve’s lower back.

“Let’s dance,” Steve mumbled against his mouth.

Bucky pulled back reluctantly to look at him. “Dance?”

Steve pushed his hands away and went to turn on the radio.

They danced for at least an hour that night even though it was clumsy and a little drunken. They twirled each other around and tried not to hit any walls or furniture. They danced until well after midnight and it was officially Christmas. They danced until old Mrs. Hans banged on their wall and yelled for them to shut up and then they collapsed onto the sofa bed, exhausted but happy.

 

1941

“You’re stubborn as a horse, you know that?”

Steve didn’t even bother looking up from his morning cup of joe or his newspaper. “You met a lot of horses?”

The low-level constant anger Bucky struggled to keep in check simmered to the top like it did most days. This wasn’t the first fight they’d had about this and it wouldn’t be the last. The only solace Bucky could take was that Steve was no closer to enrolling as he was a month ago but nor was he closer to giving up.

Bucky was honest to god utterly helpless. He was packing up and heading out on the train for training in Wisconsin in a few days and once he was gone there was no one to keep an eye on Steve. These winter months were long, and Steve’s asthma only seemed worse lately. Who was gonna stop him from mouthin’ off to some jerk? Who was gonna save his ass then? And what if someone did let him into the army? It would be a suicide mission.

Of course Bucky told him all of this.

And he’d say, “So then it is,” each and every time.

 

1945

It’d been years since Bucky became Sargent Barnes and shipped out for England, leaving Steve in Brooklyn along with his mama and sisters and the life he knew. The intervening years changed Bucky on a cellular level but none so much as Steve.

Bucky’s hands no longer spanned Steve’s waist. In fact, Steve was taller, broader than him. He looked cut from marble. Like one of them statues in a museum but bigger.

His face was the same though. His eyes. His voice. His mind and heart.

“I’m still me,” Steve would say, half pleading. He pointed to his forehead. “All the important stuff is here.”

Still, Bucky grumbled. “You’re supposed to be home, Steve. Not out on the front lines.” But he knew there was no use arguing way back when and it was even more pointless now.

He’d even tried begging and while Steve looked awful sorry there was still no changing his mind. There never would be.

So Bucky did what he always did. He stayed. 

 


End file.
